


Top Chef

by egocentrifuge



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: M/M, and the suggestion of knifeplay, but not really?, but there is brief feeding, it's fluff with a lil bit of porn, it's pwp, it's really just fluff tho, that gets interrupted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 09:59:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5703469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egocentrifuge/pseuds/egocentrifuge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You fucking, you make a mess of everything," Joel mumbles, pulling his mouth away, leading Adam to his bared neck. Adam bites at it readily, making Joel stutter in his continued diatribe. "Sh-shoes in the middle of the room, clothes on the bathroom floor, fucking--fucking <i>peanut butter</i>--you're like, you're like a fucking child."</p><p>"You're twice my age," Adam reminds Joel as he licks his way down Joel's chest, finds his sensitive collarbone and sinks his teeth into it. Joel's hips jerk against his as he makes a wordless sound of outrage--from the age comment or the bite, Adam doesn't know.</p><p>"Ruined me," Joel says hoarsely. "You've absolutely, you've fucking ruined me."</p><p>"Yeah," Adam agrees readily. "Same."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Top Chef

Adam has a problem. Okay, no, that's inaccurate—Adam has a lot of problems, but the thing is, _the thing is,_ most of his problems? Joel Heyman's fault. The fact that he's drunk at work on a Thursday, that's, that's because of Joel. Same with the, with the car thing. The not driving thing. The, the having to take an Uber to get back to his car thing. Because he, he's taking an Uber home. Well—no. He's taking an Uber to Joel's place. Which is where the other problems come in, because Adam, because Joel is a problem. Joel and his stupid hair, which is fucking all over the place because he's been running his hands through it like a maniac. Joel and his, his pores. Fucking, freckles and shit. Joel and his face and its pores and its freckles. And its lips, man—Adam had never thought man lips were attractive until he'd realized that they were still just as soft, still just as pretty around—

"Adam," those lips say, and Adam hums slightly in pleasure.

"Adam," the lips say again, then, "Adam, motherfucker, stop—stop staring."

Adam considers this command, finds it stupid, and shrugs. "Nah," he says, and continues gazing at those lips lovingly.

That is, of course, when they part, Joel inhales noisily, and they purse in the way that can only mean one thing. Well—two things.

One, Joel is holding his breath. Two, Adam has a boner.

"Joel," he says plaintively, and finally drags his gaze up to Joel's eyes. He's just in time to see them crinkle in delight as Joel breaks and start laughing—which, honestly, doesn't help much, because another fucking problem in Adam's life is Joel Heyman's laugh. That stupid, that stupid fucking gasp. Who laughs like that? Fucking idiots, is who. Fucking, Joel.

 _Fucking Joel,_ now that's an idea. Why is Adam not fucking Joel right now? He'd like to be. Would like to, to fuck him until he's gasping for another reason. Would like to keep him from gasping with a hand around his throat.

"Adam?" Joel says, and his voice is—is a little lower than before, pitched in a way that has Adam licking his lips. He blinks as he realizes his eyes have drifted south of Joel's mouth, that he's staring openly at Joel's neck.

That Joel's into it.

"Joel," Adam acknowledges. "How upset would you be—"

"Very," Joel interrupts. "If what?"

"Your Uber rating—"

"We're not having sex in the back of an Uber, Adam."

"But—"

"No. _No."_

Disappointingly, Joel is not persuaded even by Adam's suggestion that they use Gus' account to call the Uber, citing all sorts of boring reasons Adam tunes out in favor of fantasizing further. He's in the middle of wondering whether Joel would be into facefucking or if the messiness would be a dealbreaker when Joel's phone goes off, signaling the arrival of their sadly sexless Uber.

"How do you feel about vomiting, Joel?" Adam asks as they make their way outside. Joel does his stupid fucking laugh and Adam adjusts himself as discreetly as possible.

"Why, you going to be sick as, as revenge for not being able to ruin my rating through backseat blowjobs?"

"No, you vomiting," Adam clarifies. "Like, because of my dick."

"That sounds disgusting," Joel says. "I, I don't want to taste that whiskey any more than I already have."

"But the actual vomiting bit—" Adam insists. Joel cuts him off effectively by sliding into the front seat of the Uber.

They pass the ride back to Joel's place mainly in silence—or at least, Adam does. Joel talks to the driver about the recent game—football? baseball? Adam is pretty sure even the driver doesn't know—while Adam sits in the back and stares at Joel's stupid profile and thinks about things that absolutely do not help his boner in any way. He thinks Joel notices him looking, because the amount of times he licks his lips in just the short ride to his apartment borders on excessive.

Stupid tongue. Stupid lips. Stupid _Joel._

Stupid Joel who interrupts Adam's train of thought by twisting around in his seat and saying, "I think we should order burgers," abruptly.

"I love you," Adam says. Joel does his dying fish impression and turns back around.

"I, I cannot believe what a lightweight you are, considering—"

"Don't call me fat, Joel. I'll cry."

"I wouldn't want, want to see a fat man cry. Do you want fries?"

"Only if you're paying," Adam says cheerfully. Joel snorts and mutters _Not a chance,_ but if history is any indication the charge will just end up on Adam's tab, a mystical record Joel's apparently kept of all the things Adam owes him for. Half of the time what he says he's putting on there isn't monetary, though, so Adam is pretty sure he's going to end up with a knife in his back some day.

One of Joel's nice knives. Dude spends a lot of money on knives for eating perpetual ramen at least once a week. Would he let Adam use one of them in bed?

Adam is still pondering how best to bring this up, i.e. wondering how angry Joel would be if Adam blindfolded him and only told him which knife he'd used afterwards, when they finally make it to Joel's place.

"Go up and make sure the debate is being recorded," Joel tells Adam before he can ask if Joel wants to split the cost, shoving his keys indelicately into Adam's hands. Adam considers reminding Joel he's not his personal Tivo slave, thinks better of it, and extracts himself from the back of the car.

Joel's place is, as ever, impeccable. Adam kicks his shoes into the middle of Joel's living room with a sense of deep satisfaction before staring at the place Joel's TV should be.

"It's in the bathroom," Joel calls from the door, then, "Fuck, Adam, I'm sick and fucking tired of cleaning up after you," as he spots Adam's shoes. Adam ignores this on principle and follows the cords to the bathroom where, sure enough, Joel's absurdly large television is perched on the edge of the counter.

"Why, Joel?" Adam sighs once he finds the remote on the side of the tub. "You're going to electrocute yourself."

"It's not in the shower with me," Joel argues from across the house. "What do you want on your burger?"

"Peanut butter and bacon."

"You're, you're a fucking animal."

Adam grins at Joel's outrage before flicking on the TV and ensuring that Joel's political debate is, indeed, recording. He ends up flipping through the rest of Joel's programs as Joel argues with the delivery place.

When Joel appears in the doorway Adam is in the middle of stripping off for a bath and an impromptu episode of International House Hunters.

"Is this the one where they're in Greece?" Joel asks, already pulling his hoodie over his head. Adam squints at the screen, then laughs.

"Did you save this just to aggressively critique the Greek housing market?"

"And its portrayal in media," Joel confirms. "Don't, don't make the bath too hot."

The bath is by no means big enough for two men over six foot, but it gives Adam an excuse to hold Joel as he sobers up, so he doesn't complain about Joel pushing his leg literally over the edge of the porcelain.

"Joel, my foot is freezing. And filthy. What if I want to fuck you with that foot later, huh?"

Well, Adam doesn't complain much.

"You're not getting your feet anywhere near my ass," Joel mutters, then adds, "or my dick," before Adam can make that suggestion.

"You're a jerk."

"Yeah," Joel agrees, then, as the doorbell rings, adds, "Get the door, Adam. Put, put some clothes on."

"Boring!" Adam says cheerfully, but snags his boxers on his way out of the bathroom anyways. He's still dripping and the wet fabric does very little for his modesty when Adam answers the door.

"Heyman?"

"Yeah, dude."

The delivery man barely bats an eye before handing Adam the bags and heading back out of the building.

"You tipped him, right?" Adam calls as he unpacks their food. There's a plain burger for Joel, a separate container for his bun, and several more boxes for his toppings, plus Adam's burger and fries stuffed together in one. He leaves Joel's food where it is as he makes his way to the sofa--insofar as the lego pieces are Joel's food. Joel is already picking a fry delicately from atop the mound in Adam's box.

"They taste like peanut butter," he complains, flopping naked next to Adam on the couch.

"No shit, Joel."

"The debate got Tivoed, right?"

"Yeah. If you try watching it now it's going to mysteriously get deleted off your box, though."

"Jerk," Joel mutters. He takes another fry. "What, what kind of bastard do you think I am?" he adds.

Adam grins at Joel, at his casual nakedness, at the fact that he's eating off of Adam's plate--well, delivery container.

"You're a cheapskate," he reminds Joel, and knows what the impassioned response will be before Joel pauses mid-bite.

"I know what it's like to be poor," he starts. Adam kisses him purely for the enjoyment of it, to feel Joel pause as his thoughts stutter before he pulls back and resumes his rant.

"Do you know what it's like when people don't tip? It's, it's--"

"It's like the slap in the face of consumerism," Adam finishes brightly. "Yes, Joel."

Joel's glare settles into a grin as he stares at Adam.

"You taste like peanut butter," he accuses. Adam can't help but laugh.

"No _shit,_ Joel."

It pulls a full smile, then a breathless laugh from Joel before he takes the food from Adam's hands.

"I was eating that," Adam complains. He gets the rest of Joel's abandoned fry in his mouth for his trouble.

"I bought the food," Joel says shortly. "I get to do what I want with it."

Adam watches Joel pick through the box delicately, pinch the apparently ideal fry between his thumb and forefinger. He holds it up to examine before presenting it to Adam.

"Eat," he says. Adam laughs.

"Is it that kind of--" he starts, but Joel shoving the food in his mouth effectively cuts him off. Adam giggles helplessly at the aggression before obediently chewing and swallowing.

"How badly did you want to do this at work?" Adam teases as Joel selects another morsel for him.

"Shut you up?" Joel asks, holding up another fry for Adam. This time Adam takes it, leans forward to close his lips around the tips of Joel's fingers before he can pull away.

It doesn't bother him like it used to when Joel wipes his fingers on Adam's damp boxers before resuming his search for the next bite.

"You're drunk," Joel declares, feeding Adam another fry. Adam raises his eyebrows.

"Well, not anymo--"

"You're drunk," Joel interrupts pointedly. "And I'm, I'm taking care of you."

Adam takes in Joel's smile, the twinkling in his eyes, and leans back dramatically.

"I'm so drunk, Joel," he groans. "I've never been this drunk."

"Don't overdo it," Joel laughs, but scoops up more fries anyways. "I don't, I don't want to feel like you're about to hurl."

"I think you need to reconsider your stance on vom--" Adam starts, but Joel is suddenly pressing the burger against Adam's mouth and he's forced to take a bite or be smothered. He's abruptly struggling to chew a huge mouthful of bacon and bread and beef with peanut butter gluing his teeth together and abruptly realizes what a poor life decision he's made.

"'oel," he manages around the bite, "aff-ole."

"What was that?" Joel says. If Adam could swallow without choking the gleam in Joel's eyes alone would be enough to make him. "You want some fries? Well, okay--"

"'oel," Adam tries again, but his cheeks are being squished and Joel is shoving more food into Adam's mouth and it's all he can do not to laugh and shower them both with half-chewed burger.

"It's okay," Joel says, half-soothing, half-laughing. "I know it's a burden taking care of a drunk friend, but, but I'm here for you."

 _It's your fault I'm drunk,_ Adam wants to say, then remembers, _I am not drunk,_ and ends up gagging as he struggles not to laugh. Joel leans forward, then back, then stands abruptly. Adam forces the food down as Joel starts to walk towards the kitchen, grabs his wrist, pulls him back towards him.

"Don't leave me, Joel," Adam says plaintively, looking up at Joel with the most pleading expression he can manage. "I won't make a mess."

Joel looks down at him, no doubt taking in the peanut butter and grease Adam can feel still clinging to his lips, not to mention whatever's made its ways onto his beard. Adam draws his lips into his mouth to clean them without looking away from Joel.

Something twitches in Adam's peripheral vision and he has to keep himself from crowing in victory as Joel is suddenly clambering into his lap.

"Like hell you won't," Joel mutters, then they're kissing, then Joel has apparently abandoned whatever food kink thing he had going in favor of grinding down against Adam.

"You fucking, you make a mess of everything," Joel mumbles, pulling his mouth away, leading Adam to his bared neck. Adam bites at it readily, making Joel stutter in his continued diatribe. "Sh-shoes in the middle of the room, clothes on the bathroom floor, fucking--fucking _peanut butter_ \--you're like, you're like a fucking child."

"You're twice my age," Adam reminds Joel as he licks his way down Joel's chest, finds his sensitive collarbone and sinks his teeth into it. Joel's hips jerk against his as he makes a wordless sound of outrage--from the age comment or the bite, Adam doesn't know.

"Ruined me," Joel says hoarsely. "You've absolutely, you've fucking ruined me."

"Yeah," Adam agrees readily. He gets his arms around Joel's waist, plants his feet. "Same."

Adam's legs twinge as he stands up with Joel in his arms, but Joel gets with the program quickly and clamps his legs around Adam's waist and his arms around his shoulders. It gives Adam enough leeway to push his boxers down with one hand, to finally feel Joel's dick against his skin.

"Adam," Joel gasps. "Put, put me down, right now."

"Sure," Adam says. He steps out of his boxers before readjusting his arms around Joel and starting towards the bedroom. He's rewarded with a shock of laughter from Joel and nails digging into his back.

"Adam," Joel protests. "Adam, this is--I don't like this--"

"I don't believe you," Adam says cheerfully. He shifts Joel's weight to one arm again before worming a hand between them and giving Joel's boner a friendly tug. Joel's heels dig into his back as a moan interrupts his breathless laughter.

"Don't squirm," Adam warns. "I'm drunk, I might drop you."

"You're an ass," Joel gasps. "You, I hate--"

The rest of the endearment is lost when Adam tosses Joel onto the bed and follows him down. Joel's kisses are almost chaste as he tries to catch his breath, or they are until Adam resumes stroking Joel absently to get him to moan into Adam's mouth. It's addicting having Joel like this, finally silent beneath him, utterly focused in sensation and not--

"Nutella," Joel mumbles. Adam pulls back far far enough to see Joel's frown.

"Nutella," Adam acknowledges. "Are you going to spoon feed me Nutella, next?"

"No--well, maybe. I mean, do you think you could put Nutella on a burger?"

"Like, and have it taste good?" Adam gives the handjob a few more moments of effort and only gets a slight wrinkling of Joel's nose for his trouble. He sighs and flops beside Joel on the bed.

"I don't know, Joel. Nutella is a lot sweeter than peanut butter."

"But people put like, sugar in chili."

"You could probably put Nutella in chili."

"Do you want to make chili?"

Adam rubs a hand over his face. Sex aside, Adam knows the contents of Joel's fridge, and he doesn't want any of it in a crock pot.

"You still have your burger," he points out. Joel waves his hand dismissively.

"Burgers, burgers are a drunk food. I'm sober now."

"And want to put Nutella in chili."

The frustration buzzing through Adam's limbs fades in a wave of fondness when Joel pushes himself up with a hand on Adam's leg, clambers over him without seeming to notice they're both still hard.

"Come on," he calls from the hallway. "We could be rich, Adam."

Adam stares at the ceiling for a long moment before giving in and laughing. Joel was--Joel was an absolute menace.

"Adam," Joel calls, voice dangerously contemplative. "Have you ever, have you ever wondered what--what it'd be like to use a knife--"

Adam can't help it, he laughs again.

"You're a piece of shit, Joel," he shouts as he pushes himself up. Joel meets him in the hallway, smile distracting from his nakedness and--yeah, that's one of his stupidly expensive knives in his hands.

"I love you, too," he laughs, then, as Adam kisses him, "You still taste like, like peanut butter."

"No shit, Joel," Adam laughs, and leads Joel back to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at egocentrifuge.tumblr.com


End file.
